The Windowsill
by daysandweeks
Summary: The day of Dumbledore's funeral, Harry does some pondering, some helping out, and realizes some things.


**A/N: **Le gasp! A work of fanfiction by me that isn't romantically centered or even a drama, really! And the main character is HARRY! WTF! Haha, have fun. And yes, I did work some R/Hr into it. I can't not. Rating for the briefest hint of OMGTHEYDIDITWTF!

Things were changing, even the simple things in life. It was as if Harry had outgrown everything he had ever known.

Perhaps it was that Dumbledore's funeral was in a matter of hours. Exhausted, upset, and incredibly full of responsibility, but still somehow empty, Harry had entered his dormitory, which was empty, to shuffle towards the window sill.

At first he had just looked out of the window and across Hogwarts' landscape. The day wasn't too bad, but nobody was outside yet. Most were eating breakfast, or in their common rooms chatting in hushed voices, already dressed for the funeral. Harry was still in his sweatshirt, sweatpants that he had worn to bed last night, and socks. All of the sudden, a wave came over him, and he felt the need to be comforted.

He remembered back to his first year, when he had first arrived at Hogwarts. Everything, surprisingly, had been so simple then. Sure, he had had to go on that quest, but Hermione and Ron had been at his side. They had all been children then, and things were so uncomplicated. Harry hadn't known that he would see people he respected and cared for die. He hadn't even thought that Ginny would grow up to be a beautiful young woman that was quite popular with the boys, but would still choose him over them all. He hadn't expected Ron and Hermione to fight so much after they finally became friends. He hadn't expected any of them to fight. He had thought they'd all be friends forever-The Golden Trio. He hadn't ever pondered that it would turn into The Golden Third Wheel and His Friends, but now he quite expected it.

His need to be comforted, and his memories of his first year, made him attempt to relax in the windowsill, the way he had done so many years ago, after first coming to Hogwarts. He had been so happy and content. Nothing could bother him. Now, however, he wasn't so sure.

He barely fit in the windowsill. He hunched over and wrapped his arms around him, even though the spot was rather warm. His feet hung over the edge, slightly, and he cast a downward glance at his knees.

He was going to end it with Ginny, he decided. How would she take it? She'd probably be angry, or maybe she'd understand. He had seen her in the common room minutes before, already dressed for the funeral, talking to Hermione and Ron. They were making the best of things, and laughing, although he saw that they really were upset. Ginny had lent him a sad smile, and he had noticed that, in that moment, everything was perfect. Sure, things were sad, but the way everyone in the common room had fit…

Neville was in the overstuffed chair, reading a book on Herbology and stretching out his legs. Ginny was being quiet and talking to her brother and friend. Ron and Hermione weren't bickering, but smiling at each other. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan were in the corner playing wizard's chess. Lavender Brown was looking irritable, and Parvati Patil was trying to cheer her up.

It was like a scene from Harry's first or second year, he realized now, slouched in the windowsill. But everyone in Gryffindor had outgrown their first and second years. They were older. They were fifteen, sixteen, or seventeen, he realized, even those who were just eleven or twelve. They had lost a very important man in their lives, and were trying to revert to simplicity, although it was barely working.

He had been so happy to see Ginny, Ron, and Hermione alive. In fact, he had stayed up rather late, talking to Ginny among other things. For a second a smile crossed his lips, but slowly disappeared. That had made things even less simple. Doing adult things had made them both even older and more complicated, in many ways. Harry had done so much…growing up…in the past few days, that he quite believed that he was seventy-three.

And now he had to break up with her, for her own sake. She was going to be furious, that was for certain. He groaned, but knew it was something he had to do. Suddenly, he heard a shuffling, and looked up.

Ron had entered the dormitory, looking for Harry. "Still not dressed, mate? The funeral's in an hour." Harry blinked, slowly, realizing how long he'd been sitting and thinking. "You okay?" Ron continued.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Harry hopped out of the windowsill, and headed towards his trunk to pull out some nicer clothing. "I was just thinking."

"I've been thinking a lot, too," Ron answered, heading towards his trunk to pull out a tie, presumably, as he already was dressed up, but sans the tie. "Can I have your opinion on something, Harry? I mean, only if you want to. If you're upset, that's fine."

Harry looked up at Ron and threw the pants he had fished out onto his bed. "That's fine, Ron. Ask away." Ron was upset, too. They all were. Sure, Harry had seen Dumbledore die with his own two eyes, but he wasn't going to be a drama queen about it and say that he was affected more than the others.

Ron smiled, oddly, and pulled a tie out of his trunk. Harry wondered if he should lend Ron one, or tell him to wear his Gryffindor one or something, because the tie was an odd shade of puce and had a strange pattern that reminded Harry of fish on it. However, he didn't, because Ron began to talk.

"I'm telling her," Ron stated, simply.

"What? Who?"

"'Mione," Ron continued, tying his tie. "I'm telling her…" He trailed off. His face was turning the color of his tie.

"Telling her what?" Harry asked, looking for two ties. He had one that was fine for the event, but Ron really needed something else. Honestly, if he was telling Hermione something like, how he felt, per say, and his face turned red, it would look strange with the tie and all. But Harry only had one tie, aside from his Gryffindor one, so he shrugged it off.

Ron sighed, but Harry was concentrating on getting dressed, and didn't see if Ron got any redder. "You know what," he spat. "I'm just saying, I dunno. You have more experience in this stuff than me…"

"I do?"

"Yeah! Haven't you ever, like, told Ginny something? Like, you liked her or loved her or something like that? How do you tell her?"

Harry looked up at Ron, and pondered on the thought. Yes, they had definitely outgrown their first year. Five years ago, Ron would have never asked Harry something like this, because five years ago, Ron wouldn't have wanted to or wouldn't have had to.

He thought back to last night, and smirked. "Well, once. But, I dunno, mate. Just say what you feel like you need to say. It will work out." The irony was, Harry would probably tell Ginny something similar today, just to break up with her.

Ron rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Thanks, mate. And don't tell anyone."

"I won't."

Harry shook his head as he finished dressing, a smile spreading across his face. When finished, he shuffled back into the windowsill once more. Looking outside, he saw a small group heading towards the lake. He saw Ginny was there, by her long, flowing red hair, laughing with Hermione. Ron ran out after them.

Looking down on his friends, the size of small animals from up in the castle, all of the sudden, Harry felt like he hadn't outgrown anything, that none of them had.

And for those few seconds, sure, he didn't fit perfectly into the windowsill, but he fit perfectly into himself.


End file.
